“Don’t even think about taking the blame for what happened. I was wrong for blaming you, for taking my anger out on you.”

She presses her hand against my chest. “Just hear me out.” She rubs the spot over my rapidly beating heart. “I was content with the life we had. We made decisions together, I supported you, you supported me—we were truly an us. But I did follow in your footsteps, and I was okay with that; I still am, because you’re my home. That night, though, I thought I needed to push you past your limits. I felt the need to help you escape. It was a decision I made on my own, forcing you to go to that party—a decision that shaped my entire life. Ever since then, I’ve never truly committed to one place to live, one job, one man. But that has changed now.”

I might not agree with her, but I can understand her reasoning. “Keep going.”

A smile passes over her lips. “This is where you come in, Mr. Knightly.”

“Oh yeah?” I tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Mm-hmm. I heard you’re going to be throwing events at the manor . . . do you happen to need an event planner?”

Hell, why didn’t I think of it myself? Harper would be perfect for the job. Not only does she have experience from college, but she loves the manor; it would be the perfect place for her to build a career.

“The job is yours if you want it.”

“Really?” Her eyes light up.

“I couldn’t think of a better person for the job. It’s all yours, Harp. I can set up an office for you in the den.”

“Rogan!” She clamps her hands on my cheeks. “I . . . wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but . . . are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, I don’t know what to say! Gah, really?”

“Really.”

She bounces up and down with excitement. “Does this mean you’ll finally introduce me to the manor mistress?”

I grin. “All in good time.”

She groans but presses her forehead against mine. “You’ve made me the happiest girl in the world, not just with this job, but with everything. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m finally going to live the life I’ve always dreamed of . . . with you.”

“As long as you’re my forever girl. That’s all I care about.”

Closing the last few inches between us, I press my lips against hers and get lost there.

Seven whole years apart . . . they were painful, but I don’t think we could ever have gotten to where we are today without them. I know I wouldn’t have had the drive to make a better life, and Harper may never have realized where she belongs: right next to me, our hearts beating as one.

Seven years . . . it was all worth it. She’s worth it.

My forever girl.

EPILOGUE

HARPER

I nervously pace back and forth over the freshly stained porch, my hands twisting together as I wait for Rogan to pull into the long driveway with the manor mistress.

It’s been a month.

A freaking month!

He waited a month to introduce me, claiming he wanted to focus on us first, get through the holidays—which we spent together in our house—and then focus on the mystery we tried to solve as teenagers. I think he just likes to torture me. Last week, I threatened withholding sex if he didn’t introduce me in the next week. It’s why I’m standing on the porch of the manor, impatiently waiting. This is the moment I’ve been begging for, the culmination of my high school years, all hovering over this one woman, someone I never thought I would get to meet.

But Rogan made it happen.

He never fails me; even when he pushed me away seven years ago, he never failed me, keeping me close to his heart through these houses, through our memories.

I twist the ring on my finger, loving the feel of it once again, as if it never left. Rogan proposed to me on New Year’s Eve, saying he wanted to start the year off right, and that meant marrying me. It took me no time at all to say yes. It might seem like bad luck to some people, but he gave me the same ring he took away from me so many years ago. He said he couldn’t ever get rid of it, because in the back of his mind, at the bottom of his heart, he always hoped that maybe, just maybe, we would get back together.

And I’m so glad he kept it. It holds a history that’s complex and sometimes painful . . . and entirely ours.

His signature black Range Rover works its way down the long driveway. My breath catches in my chest as I try to peer past the tinted windows to catch a glimpse.

Damn it. I can’t see a thing.

It didn’t take very long for Rogan to ask me to move in with him, and how could I resist? The only thing I felt bad about was leaving my dad alone again. But he’s enjoyed coming over every other week for dinner, taking in the house he once thought he would buy for my mom.

To say he cried the first time he saw it was an understatement, and that moment with my dad just made me fall head over heels in love with Rogan all over again.

And the manor? I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t step through these doors and bask in the pure beauty of the place. Many years ago, we found this house broken down, unnurtured, and in need of some love. It went through its ups and downs, had its pitfalls, but in the end, it was brought back to life, just like my relationship with Rogan. He saw beauty in what he had, and yes, he might have stopped loving us for a brief moment, but it was a speed bump, because just like the house, he nurtured us back to life.

Filming wrapped up pretty quickly after I turned down the job, which gave me time to pick up some events with Gina’s help. They were cobbled together, but I know once I get a chance to take a deep breath, all the events will be smooth sailing, and I’ll grow into a job that makes me happier than I thought possible.

The wind blows through my hair, sending a chill down my spine as Rogan, my man, with his broad shoulders, wool jacket, and black-rimmed glasses, rounds the car and smiles at me before reaching for the passenger door.

Ugh, I can’t see anything past him, which he realizes, judging from the giant grin on his face.

I move closer as he opens the door. A small, loafer-covered foot meets the ground first as Rogan takes a frail hand in his. He steps to the side, and I blink a few times, recognition hitting me square in the chest. “Harper, I think you know Mrs. Davenport?”

A little old lady with the brightest white hair you’ve ever seen steps forward; I swear my jaw hits the floor.

Mrs. Davenport is the manor mistress? She’s the woman Rogan visits every Friday? The original Forever Girl?

I’m blown away. Never in a million years would I have guessed that the town gossip, the leader of the elders, the little old lady with the penchant for driving locals crazy with her antics, would be the manor mistress.

“From the look on her face, it seems like she wasn’t expecting me,” Mrs. Davenport says in her shaky voice, taking the steps up to the manor in small strides, her eyes full of wonder as she takes everything in.

I don’t say a word; instead, I let her cherish this moment, knowing how special it is to her.

This is the first time she’s seeing the manor since Rogan renovated the entire property. After all the letters she sent, all the hopes and dreams she wished for this house have finally become a reality. I can only imagine what she must be feeling.

Rogan holds the door open for the both of us, and I let Mrs. Davenport walk in first as Rogan takes the spot at my side and links our hands together, a huge smile playing across his gorgeous lips.

With a shaky cane, Mrs. Davenport makes her way through the entryway and into the ballroom, where she presses her hand against her chest. Awestruck: it’s the only way I can describe it. Completely awestruck.

“It’s . . . everything I ever imagined,” she whispers, finding a seat next to the fireplace.

I don’t sit down right away; instead, we stand off to the side, letting her enjoy her moment in the house she never got to live in.

Finally, after wiping a stray tear, she motions to the couch across from the chair. “Sit, dear, we don’t want to have you standing all day with your mouth hanging open like a dead fish.”

I snap my mouth shut and take a seat. I guess I was a little awestruck myself.

“I suppose you’re wondering what the story is, aren’t you?” she casually says, as if we didn’t just rock her world. Rogan sits next to me and places his hand on my thigh, squeezing tightly.

“I mean . . . yeah.”

She chuckles. “Rogan told me all about your teenage adventures in the manor and the letters you found. Iggy always did enjoy collecting things and hiding them from that wretch of a woman Emma.”